She has me blushing into pillows
But does not know because I do not tell her
About the kid with the churning stomach
On the end of her digital receiver
Sometimes it is a conversation made up of 25 text messages
Other times it is a phone call placed too late at night
And whispering becomes necessary
But warm cheeks and numbed legs are consistent
Always consistent in our conversations
One day we will muster up the courage
To ditch our receivers
And blush into each other’s hands
When the sun is perfectly angled
And adds light to her dark brown eyes
And I will finally understand
